


Perfect

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Blogathon 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-28
Updated: 2007-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't know what he wanted, until some kid standing under a street light taught him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 513  
> Written for Blogathon 2007, and prompted by LJ's metafascinating, who requested "an AU where Justin comes to the opening of Babylon".

Some things aren't meant to change, Mikey had said.

Some things -- like Babylon. Strobe lights and disco balls and the good ol' thumpa thumpa. A safe place, a haven, a fuck-you to every straight politician and lawmaker and bible-thumper who wants to sweep queers under the rug and pretend they don't exist, or worse, toss them out like yesterday's putrid kung pao noodles. Some things need to be.

We're not going anywhere, Brian thinks.

Mikey snuggles with the Professor and Theodore sips soda water and works on round seventeen of Life With Blake, and those things aren't meant to change, either. Those things are inevitable, like death and taxes and a thwack on the head from Deb when she gets in one of her moods.

Some things aren't meant to change, Mikey had said. He meant one particular thing.

Mikey was wrong.

Brian shuffles in pseudo-time to the music and watches the writhing crowd through half-closed eyes. Sober, because his days of trailmix and bourbon and bumps in the back room are, if not over, at least severely curtailed since he became a Responsible Homeowner. He's come too close too many times to losing someone he loves to take any more reckless chances with his own life.

This -- his club, his business, his friends, his _life_ \-- is not exactly the way he planned, but then he never did know what he wanted. His focus was always on what he _didn't_ want.

He didn't want to be like Jack. He didn't want to be like those piously suffering parishioners at church, sad-eyed and thin-lipped. He didn't want the slow painful death of marriage and two point five kids and a white picket fence. He didn't want to be poor or afraid and he most definitely didn't want to be alone, and as Pittsburgh's top dog he guaranteed that he never would be. He was never alone. A new man every night.

He didn't know what he wanted, until some kid standing under a street light taught him.

There are still blowjobs in the backroom, but they pale in comparison to Justin's voice on the telephone, husky and deep and filled with need, need for him. Need that is shared. There are still visits to the baths, but more often there are late-night flights to New York and desperate kisses and hands clutching feverishly at paint-stained clothing.

There are still two rings sitting in a velvet box waiting for the time to be right.

Brian throws back his head and feels the beat, raises his arms and closes his eyes and finds his balance.

He dances, and keeps on dancing, until he feels the tug on his pant leg. He glances down lazily.

"I'm having such a wonderful time!" Emmett yells up at him. "You throw a faaabulous party!"

Brian smirks. "You expected anything different?"

"It's perfect!" Emmett says, throwing his arms wide and gifting Brian with a gap-toothed grin before heading back to the crowd in search of his latest fling.

It's not perfect, Brian knows. But what the fuck ever is? He sways to the beat and watches Emmett's progress through the mass of bodies crowding the dance floor, torsos glistening white and black and brown, loses sight of Emmett to track one particular body in the churning throng, smiles wide and wider and --

"I thought I wasn't going to make it," Justin says as he hops lightly onto the platform. "Fucking plane was late."

He is flushed and breathless and there is black paint under his nails, and Brian pulls him into a kiss, runs his hand through Justin's hair and down his back and presses them tight, tighter. Justin laughs when they part.

"It's a great turnout," Justin says, surveying the crowd. "Did I miss anything exciting? How's everything going?"

Brian tugs on Justin's hand, grins when their bodies collide. Justin's arms wrap around his neck and his hands find Justin's hips, and their bodies move together naturally, instinctively. He bends his knees and presses their foreheads together, sways in time to the music and with Justin's innate rhythm. Matches him as best he can.

"It's perfect," he says softly. "Now."


End file.
